Melodramatic
by Nan
Summary: This story is how a Star Fleet has morphed into a organization that built Vengeance - a Dreadnought class star ship that has only one purpose. This isn't what Kirk signed up for when he joined.
1. Chapter 1

The last fan fiction I wrote was in 2003 for the series JAG. I've been a fangirl of Trek all my life but somehow, this latest movie got the itch going again. What great characters they all are! A diverse universe with intriguing plot lines and tangents. Thanks for reading and helping shake the rust from my writing skills. Feedback is humbly appreciated and accepted.

* * *

Death wasn't what he thought it would be. No release from a failing body. Nor shuffling off of a mortal coil as the Bard described it. No clarity of perspective. No all-knowledge or truth. To be completely honest, Jim felt like shit. And there was this immense weariness that was influencing his ability to focus. On anything.

Dark. Everything is dark. Open eyes. White. Everything is bright and glarey. He immediately wanted to go back to the oblivion of the dark. He blinked, rolled his head and felt a sting at the side of his neck. Hypo-spray? What was Bones doing here?

"Don't be so melodramatic. You were barely dead."

Like McCoy could read his thoughts. What? What? What do you mean 'barely dead?' I am dead. I died. Immense dose of radiation from the warp reactor. Spock was there. He cried. I saw it. Ask Scotty.

He concentrated on the source of the voice. The figure bending over him came into focus. Definitely Leonard McCoy, old friend and perennial pain in the neck, pun intended. Huh. That's so weird.

His looked around. It was a room. A hospital room. A hospital room on solid ground. Likely Earth. Odds are then its San Francisco. Starfleet Medical! He patted himself on the back for stringing together a brilliant piece of logic

Kirk directed all his attention to what McCoy was saying. Something about Khan. Using Khan's blood to save him. Is he trying to say I am alive? Well, that's fucking amazing. He had cheated death.

He looked at McCoy again. You frigging saved me, you silly-assed bastard. I am lucky. I also have the best of people as friends. Smart as shit friends. Unbelievably smart friends. Bones, I love you. I am alive.

Wait, what did he say? Khan's blood? Catch up, he just told you that he used that psychotic super bastard Khan to bring you back from the brink of death. No, no, no. That's like using Genghis Khan's heart for transplant. Cloning Colonel Green's brain. Whoa. There's a troubling line of thought.

"Are you feeling homicidal, power-mad or despotic?" Bones was talking again. Kirk looked at him intently, measuring the tone in his friend's voice. He was joking, right?

"No more than usual," he quipped back. His voice sounded like gravel inside his head.

McCoy smiled as he concentrated on a scanner somewhere behind him. That exchange was comforting. If Bones was cracking jokes, everything must be okay. I must be okay. Lets face it, it had to be okay. The deep lines on Bones' tired face relaxed slightly. It suddenly occurred to Jim that saving his sorry ass had been hard on his best friend. Bones, I will never forget. Ever.

He started to inventory his body. How did he feel? The quicker he got back to normal, the faster his friend could take a break. Bones could be a little over focused when it came to a few cuts and bruises. Every one knew that. He raised his head slightly off the pillow and immediately fell back. That hurt. The effort it took was shocking. He was as weak as a fucking baby. It was wiser now was just to rest. Like he had any choice. He glued on a smile for Bones' sake.

There was some one else in the room. Carefully avoiding any movement that set off a surge of pain, he looked towards the end of the bed. There standing quietly with his hands behind his back, was Spock. He was watching him.

He felt himself tense. That was the nature of the relationship between Kirk and Spock. It was different than with Bones. Bones, he could swap lies sitting in a bar drinking a Bud Classic. Tell him the intimate details of his latest lady friend. Or bullshit about success in a bar fight. Bones was relaxing. Spock was not.

Interaction with Spock required his full attention. Jim was accustomed to bulldozing over most people with a combination of charm and quick wits. None of that had ever impressed Spock. He held Jim to a frustratingly standard. That computer brain of his never forgot a comment or misstep.

But it was more than that. For a man who stated he was devoted to logic and had discarded emotion, he was pretty intense. At times Spock was more intense than most humans. He had displayed some breath taking anger when Kirk had challenged his objectivity after the destruction of Vulcan. Spock was one strong Vulcan.

Perhaps this is where the common ground lay between them. He was always driving; always pushing. Intense was an adjective to describe himself. Jim's child hood had been less than stellar. Pike had been correct when he pointed out that he was a repeat offender. Nothing big. Just stupid kid stuff that was a result of an overly creative and far too idle mind.

Vulcans controlled their emotions by choosing not to feel them. They were still there, ready to spring free from their prisons in the mind. That was clear from his mind meld with Spock Prime. And although Spock identified himself primarily as Vulcan, he wasn't. His internal conflict came from a different place than pure Vulcans. From the beginning, he had more to overcome.

When Jim reflected over the events of the Narada, he concluded that his entire life was at the epicentre of the alteration of the time line. Like seismic waves that move outward in a spherical pattern after an earthquake - the destruction is more intense the closer to the point of impact. He had been altered more than most.

When the Narada destroyed Vulcan, it registered a nine on the Richter scale, temporally speaking. In an instant, Spock's life was engulfed by a tsunami of life altering events. He too had been changed.

Jim also learned one more important fact as a result of the mind meld with Spock Prime. Both he and Spock were different people from their counterparts in that other timeline. Harder lives had made them harder people. He liked to think he could have kicked Jim Prime's ass in fight, that soft bastard with an easy life. Spock Prime was the embodiment of Vulcan ideals yet fully exploiting the strengths of his human ancestry. A man at peace. As contrast, his Spock (the one standing at the end of his bed) could lay that Kolinahr-worshipping counterpart down with a single blow. Younger version, of course. No one likes to see an old man beaten. In a nutshell, Spock and Kirk were tougher than their reflections in a time line that only existed in the memory of an ancient half-caste on New Vulcan.

But now, here, his friend was waiting to talk to him. Despite the calm exterior, Jim sensed he was one raw nerve under the surface. He had brought back Kahn alive but lost the war on his emotions. He had felt Spock's mounting anger moments before he lost consciousness in Enterprise's warp reactor. For Spock, half human, half Vulcan - control was everything.

Jim's philosophy on the other hand, was simple. "You saved my life." To Kirk, that meant everything. He silently vowed a second time. I won't forget it.

In the background, McCoy interjected, "Uhura and I might've had something to do with it too."

"You saved my life, Jim, as well as the lives of - "

Jim's eyes flicked upward towards Spock's serious face at the use of his first name. A rare occurrence which made him feel better than a hypospray. "The needs of the many… yeah, I know." He paused. "Thank you."

McCoy cleared his throat before interrupting the heavy mood of the room, "Come on, Spock. From the little I've heard, you must have laid an epic whooping on Kahn. A man expert at disappearing into thin air."

McCoy had moved in closer to adjust a monitor and continued. "Uhura told me she had to physically stop you from beating the man to death."

"No way, Bones - what else did Uhura say?"

Discussing his descent into madness was starting to piss Spock off. But it was also helping to focus his anger on someone other than himself. "Doctor, I'm not sure why you are so interested in talking about this. Kahn is no longer a threat to Earth."

McCoy ignored him. "She said he tried a mind meld on Kahn."

Jim smiled. "In the middle of a brawl? How does that work?"

"Actually Doctor, it wasn't a mind meld but Tal Shaya - a martial arts technique that is considered to be a merciful form of execution."

"You can do that?" McCoy asked. "You can kill a man by pressing finger to his face and neck?"

"Yes," said Spock. "But it didn't work with Kahn."

Jim closed his eyes. He let their conversation go on without him, comforted by familiar sounds. He must have dozed off because the next thing he knew - Spock was gone and Bones was adjusting the shades in the room.

"Go back to sleep, Jim." He felt a squeeze on his shoulder and then oblivion.

* * *

McCoy was leaning against the nurses station, head bowed reading the PADD in his hand. He was trying to formulate his orders to the next shift. Tonight he was going home to a beer and bed. It had been a long couple of weeks.

"What did you think, Doctor?" McCoy looked up. It was Spock, standing beside him, hands behind his back.

"About Jim? Good. Tired. Weak. But good.," he replied. "What did you think?"

"He seems to be suffering no ill affects from the radiation or as a result of the unorthodox use of Kahn's blood."

"We've been monitoring and suppressing at the DNA level any changes brought on by Kahn's blood. Don't worry, Spock."

"Thank you, Doctor." He turned on his heel and walked away.

Don't worry, Spock. He snorted. Now if he could only convince himself not to worry.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you for the reviews! Thanks Borimamiss, I like characterizations too.

Just a Trekkie - I agree with your assessment of the fight between Kahn and Spock. It was Tal Shaya but I wasn't sure what it was, so I stretched a bit. It was clear the Vulcan neck pinch didn't work but the second thing; what was that? Was it a mind meld? If so, what went on. Kahn reacted to it.

* * *

Dr. Leonard McCoy stopped. Beside the door, the illuminated panel gave details of the patient inside;Patient - Captain James T Kirk, Status - Isolation.

He hesitated before he punched in the security code. From inside the room, he could hear a steady two-step thump against the wall. Bump, bump (pause) bump, bump (pause) and so on. He cocked his head to one side, trying to identify the source of the noise. What was that silly-assed moron up to now? He sighed and using the PADD, turned on the noise cancellation software for the corridor outside of Room 3307. If the man was going to be an infant, at least he wouldn't hear complaints about it from the nurses.

He turned off the quarantine field and opened the door. Dressed in scrubs, Jim was sitting on the floor, back against the wall. His right hand was throwing a baseball which bounced first on the floor, then to over to the opposite wall then popped up and back to the baseball glove on Jim's hand. Bump, bump (pause), bump, bump (pause). There was a certain precision in the angle of the throw that brought the ball straight back to the glove. He sensed Jim had been doing this for a while.

Jim acknowledged his presence without breaking the rhythm. "Bones."

Bones took out the scanner in his pocket and squatted beside him. "So, I take it you looked over my library of historical movies from the 20th century?" He waved the scanner in the general direction of Jim's liver.

"Yes, I did. The title "The Great Escape" caught my eye," said Jim.

"I gathered that." McCoy refused to smile. The man was relentless. Get over it, you impatient bugger. It is just a few more days. The scanner was updating his PADD. Graphical representations of Jim's current health filled the screen.

"If you lose concentration, the ball gets caught in the matrix of the quarantine field or hits a window. Or takes out a scanner." Jim caught the ball and put the glove down. He turned to McCoy. "Why have you got me in isolation?"

"The World Health Organization guys are still here. They have a 300 year history of hysteria surrounding genetic engineering. "

"Am I contagious?"

"Don't be silly. It doesn't work that way. I'm doing it to keep it to keep people away from you. Not you from people. Besides the WHO, there's a lot of interest in Kahn and the (ahem) restorative properties of his blood. You can thank me later."

"Jesus, I'm a lab rat." Jim threw the ball hard against the wall. It smacked firmly back into the glove. "Tell me I'm okay."

"Its under control," said McCoy.

"What kind of stupid-assed answer is that?"

"It means that your remaining issues have to do with recovery and not Kahn's mutant fluids."

"I fed up to here with this. I could bust out of here. You know that, right? It would be quite easy to do."

Jim could be exhausting at times. "Well I really don't think you could but then again this is you we are talking about." Two more days, he repeated to himself. Just two more days. Three tops.

Jim stood up and flopped on to the bed. "God, I want to get out of here."

"Yeah, I got that." McCoy looked around the room for a means to change the subject. "What are you watching?" He gestured to the screen.

Kirk turned off the mute button. "The proceedings of the Star Fleet Over Sight Board."

"Sounds utterly boring." Now this wasn't just idle curiosity. Since Jim had awoken from his extended coma, he had spent much of his time watching various feeds from organizations closely associated with Star Fleet

McCoy narrowed his eyes. There was definitely something here. He watched as his friend's face went serious. Jim switched off the screen, sat up and walked to the window. He stared out over the city of San Francisco.

"Have you taken a good look at the view from here?" Jim finally broke the silence. "I can actually see half of the saucer section of Vengeance sticking up out of that crater. What a massive ship it was."

McCoy looked. Kahn has missed Star Fleet Headquarters but taken out many of the buildings in the downtown core.

"A year ago Earth was almost destroyed by a single madman - Nero. But this is worse, or could have been worse. The Vengeance is a Star Fleet commissioned ship not an enemy half a galaxy away. We did this to ourselves."

Jim was pretty much an 'in the moment' kind of guy who did the minimum of introspection. McCoy wasn't surprised when the team of doctors responsible for the psychological profile on Kirk after the Kahn affair became frustrated at his lack of cooperation. As a kid, Kirk had never found much help from a psychiatrist's couch. Rather, he had found it in bars usually after consuming significant amounts of alcohol.

To catch his friend in a moment of soul searching was something rare. Bones shut his PADD down.

"You know the story that Captain Pike talked me into enlisting in Star Fleet after a bar fight? I can still remember the words he used. That Star Fleet was a peace keeping and humanitarian armada. There I was, knuckles raw and my shirt soaked in blood thinking how I wanted to do that. Peace keeping and humanitarian. How did we go from that to this in five short years?" He pointed to Vengeance.

Jim paused. McCoy stood beside the him looking out the window.

"Every day, I wake up and think about the Enterprise. 231 missing and dead."

Bones reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver flask and handed it his friend. "I think about them too. Hard not to."

Kirk removed the lid and took a gulp. "Yeah, well. Some days I just can't seem to get beyond the fact that they died under my watch. I was brought up on the story that my Dad saved 800 people. My record on the other hand, seems to be inked in red blood."

"You don't think that. Not really. They did die under your command but also a lot of people were saved. If Kahn had succeeded, we would be at war with the Klingons. Two hundred and thirty one people dead seems trivial in that respect. War could mean millions dead. Worlds destroyed. Over time you will put it into perspective. It'll fade." Bones leaned against the window and folded his arms.

"I don't want to it to fade. In fact, I want to do the opposite of forgetting. I want to know who did this." Jim took another swig and handed it back to Bones.

"Kahn did this. What more do you need to know?"

"Kahn was only a tool. Did you see Vengeance? The systems, the construction, the weapons. Kahn was only awake for what a year or so? That magnitude of a ship took years to build. Kahn may have had strength and intelligence but that took more than that. There was long term planning."

"Admiral Marcus is dead." Bones drank and handed the flask back.

"He wasn't working alone. This rogue admiral theory has me cold. You've been in Star Fleet long enough to know Marcus wasn't the only one who thought that way. Or thinks that way now."

"There is a senate committee investigation looking into this. Interpol, CIA - agencies around the world. If there is something to find, they will find it."

Kirk studied the flask . "I haven't seen this since Riverside Ship yards." He tipped it back. "What is in it, anyways?"

"Bourbon, 160 proof." Bones took a minute to formulate his next words. "Maybe Marcus was right. I was there when Vulcan was destroyed. I still can't get over how fucking easy it was to destroy a whole planet. How close we came to losing Earth."

"You think we can justify Vengeance because of what happened last year?"

"Personally, I don't spend much time thinking about this at all." Bones shook the flask. It was empty.

Jim pick up his mitt and ball. Sat back down in his position on the floor. He threw the ball. bump, bump (pause). bump, bump (pause).

McCoy picked up his PADD and made his way to the exit. As he was opening the door, he heard Kirk say one last thing.

"Bones, I think we need to take back Star Fleet. Right the ship, so to speak."

McCoy closed his eyes and winced. "Get some sleep, Jim."


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you for the feed back, I apologize for the spelling mistakes. I know how grating that can be._

* * *

He ran his thumb across the picture on the screen in a gesture of deep concentration. Then he brought his hand to his face, bridging his nose and chin with his forefinger. The lights were subdued in his vast office, all screens and monitors off except one and he was alone. His staff knew not to bother him for the first hour of every day. The complexity of the Earth and its position in a growing universe demanded careful thought. He knew how easy it was to jump to wrong minded conclusions. He practiced system 2 thinking. He had studied the seminal research of Daniel Kahneman. He had a good working knowledge of Kolinahr. Although of the latter, he found while the tools of mental discipline were exemplary, the philosophy was dangerous. Vulcan was gone; what more proof did you need of the foolishness of Vulcan thinking?

On his screen was the official military picture of James Tiberius Kirk and a full report summarizing the life of Earth's newest hero. In the dossier was the complete un-redacted military file. Any gaps had been filled in by private investigators.

James T Kirk had burst onto the world stage from complete obscurity one year ago with the events surrounding the Narada and the destruction of Vulcan. Using ingenuity and a vessel primarily built for exploration, Kirk had defeated an enemy of immense power. Harris had been impressed.

But the recent defeat of Khan Noonien Singh and the destruction of Vengeance by the same officer had been beyond impressive. James Kirk was a legitimate phenom. Harris was now intensely interested in this man. And even more interested in the fact that Kirk had been saved from death by the ingenious use of Khan's blood.

Myles Harris had a long pedigree of ancestors involved in covert military operations. Their private logs were held in encrypted family archives. When Harris saw the report that Section 31 had found the derelict vessel containing the cryo-preserved bodies of Khan and 72 of his compatriots, he ordered Admiral Marcus to revive Khan. Marcus believed he wanted this because of Khan's superior strength, savagery and intelligence. All that was true, but Harris wanted more. Harris wanted access to Khan's genome.

And now James Kirk was a living example of the properties held in that genome. To Harris, Kirk jumped from being an interesting Star Fleet officer to his number one priority.

Marcus was a fool. His ideals had been his downfall. He believed, like most of earth, that genetically engineering ones own specie was morally offensive; as offensive as cannibalism or incest. He looked at Khan as an abomination. Harris was different. His unique family background had trained him from the cradle that people who thought like Marcus were wrong. In the end, Khan defeated Marcus because he was stupid.

Myles Harris didn't follow his father and grandfather into a career of espionage and intelligence. Their influence had been limited from his perspective. True, intelligence agencies had less of a moral code when compared to the military but governments and officials still imposed restrictions. Harris wanted more. So, he chose off planet, private equity companies to fund his immense influence. He bought power.

As head of Starfleet, Admiral Marcus had been easy to control. The destruction of Vulcan and the near destruction of Earth had re-waken an xenophobic fear of the dangers of the universe. Fear was an easy emotion to exploit in the mob mentally of public opinion. Marcus had needed money and resources to build Vengeance and Harris had been happy to provide it.

Now Marcus was dead and Starfleet was in flux. World leadership would chose the new Commander in Chief of Star Fleet. Federation council hearings were already scrutinizing the list of candidates. Harris was applying pressure to certain individuals to influence the choice. But he knew the process was flawed and weak.

What he really wanted was James T. Kirk. This man was a keystone who could manipulate public opinion and change the course of Earth - at Harris's bidding, of course.

He pressed a call button to his assistant's com badge. "I want the latest medical records on Kirk."

A voice chirped back. "Those are all that are available. Starfleet's official medical post incident report. World Health Organization's detailed threat assessment."

Harris's mouth drew a thin line. "Nothing there of interest. I want the logs of the ship's doctor. I need to have a detailed step by step procedure and follow-up. The primary physician's name is McCoy."

"I believe they are included with WHO report."

Harris's voice went deadly quiet. "Frankly, that report contains nothing but placating bullshit. I want McCoy's private logs. Video of Enterprise sick bay at the time of the incident. Interview the medical personnel on the Enterprise at the time if you have to. At Starfleet. There must be lab results somewhere. McCoy's PADD would be outstanding. Just do it."

* * *

Spock strode up the steps of legislature of United Federation of Planets at Presido. Waiting at the top of the stairs, also in his dress greys, was Jim Kirk.

"Come on, Spock," he said. "I'm anxious to get this over with."

"As it takes only 5 minutes to go from here to the Federation Council Room and the meeting doesn't start for another 15, I would say we have plenty of time."

"Are you going to throw me under the bus again?" Kirk joked. They were witnesses at the hearings investigating the construction then subsequent defeat of Vengeance.

Spock answered, "I showed you my report. My verbal testimony will be no different. However, I do see many buses available. To which do you refer? " He looked over to the visitor parking area.

"At least McCoy is no where in sight. That's one good thing."

"Are you avoiding Dr. McCoy?" Spock studied his face.

"I could only dream. The man has me in for a physical every second day. I feel great. I've surpassed my personal bests in the gym, in the weight room and on the running track. What more does he want?"

"It has been only ten weeks since the attack of the Vengeance. Perhaps he is just being thorough." Spock too had noticed that McCoy was being particularly diligent.

"He would have made a great nursemaid if he had been so endowed. I am golfing tomorrow, so he will need to do without me."

"Golf?" Spock didn't recall that as a pastime of his friend.

"With Admiral Komack. There is someone he wants me to meet," Jim said. "Lately, I feel like an Orion female at a slave market. Or is it an Orion male? I always forget who is really up for sale there. How long until Enterprise is refitted?"

"I looked at the schedule today. It will be six months before the construction crews are gone. Then three months of systems checks, speed trials and provisioning."

Jim stopped for a moment and took on a serious tone. "I can't wait to go home."

Spock knew he wasn't referring to Iowa. He watched as Jim went through the door into the council room.


	4. Chapter 4

**First City, Qo'noS -  
Klingon High Council**

"We have verified the reports," stated the Chancellor. "The Earthers are once again developing a mutagenic virus."

The council room erupted into a cacophony of shouts from the 24 members. The Klingon Empire had been thrown into chaos a century ago by a very similar threat. The Chancellor looked around the room at the representatives of the Great Houses. Many still were ravaged by the attempts at genetic engineering - their lack of cranial ridges hidden by rows of strategic piercings. Torches flickered and danced at the intensity of Klingon anger.

Duras rose and waited for the noise to die down. "The dog Marcus promised he would deliver the threat to our door. That single human destroyed many of our best warriors in combat. We were caught unaware. A human of such ability could only be a result of genetic engineering. Where there is one; there is many."

The sound of banging filled the chamber. From that, the Chancellor knew that most agreed with Duras's assessment. He was not afraid of a fight but he also knew the humans were a formidable foe. If they went to war, winning was the only result that would be tolerated. He needed time.

"Marcus is dead. He was without honor - killed by one of his own. Now reviled by his world," shouted the Chancellor over the rising tide of noise. "I have a new contact. We will see where his allegiance lies. Marcus talked of peace but he planned war. They built weapons of war. We will not tolerate deceit!"

Watching the events was a young lieutenant, Kruge. He walked to stand beside the Chancellor; raised his voice and shouted with rest of the room.

**Spock's Apartment,  
Over looking the Port of San Francisco**

Dr. Leonard McCoy rapped lightly on the door and waited. Spock knew he was coming.

The door opened and it was Uhura. "Hello, Doctor. Come it." She waved him towards a seating area. He took a look around. It was a beautiful apartment filled with an eclectic mix of antiques, Vulcan artefacts and modern design. McCoy was reminded that Spock came from a family of influence.

"Nice crib," he remarked to Uhura. He also sensed her influence in the room, from the acoustic guitar presence in a grouping of Vulcan instruments to African tapestry on the wall.

"It was Amanda's, Spock's mother. Sarek gave it to him when she died," she said. "Give us a minute. Spock is showering. We just finished Yoga."

"Spock does Yoga?"

"You should do Yoga, Doctor," said Uhura. "Stress relief."

"I relieve my stress in other ways. I just thought Spock would chose a more Vulcanish method, if you know what I mean."

"Yoga and Kolinahr have many similar qualities." She went the tap for water.

"If you say so, I guess."

Spock entered the room, hair wet, dressed in casual pants, shirt and bare feet. "I have your information doctor. I could have given it to you tomorrow." This was the Vulcan equivalent of "What's the hurry?"

"If know. I just thought I'd talk to you about it tonight."

"You were correct. Professor Marla McGiver is the leading authority on the Eugenics Wars of the 20th Century. It is indeed unusual that Star Fleet's database pointed to other experts. I will pass on the defect to the administrator in the morning." He passed a PADD to McCoy.

McCoy studied the device immediately immersed in the data.

"Doctor," said Spock. "What are you doing?"

McCoy looked up. "What do you mean?"

"This sudden interest in history, particularly this era of history."

"It's just history."

Spock narrowed his eyes and indulged in a little mimicry. "You're a doctor, not a historian."

"Point those ears elsewhere, it's nothing" Bastard, thought McCoy.

Spock took another tack. "Do you know where Jim is?"

"I thought you told me yesterday he was golfing."

"I get no location from his com badge. Which could mean he is off world. But there is no record of him being off world."

McCoy was slow to answer. "Maybe he just turned everything off. He has leave coming."

"You don't knew where he is either, Doctor." It was a statement not a question.

Damn Spock. It was hard to fool that computer brain of his. "I have to go," was all he said. He took Spock's PADD with him.

**Fifty miles off Haida Gwaii, North Pacific.**

This was one sweet ship, thought Jim. Yacht was what it was called but it was hard to think of it as only a yacht. The wood decking was gleaming and the brass fittings were polished. It was manned with a crew of fifty whose only job was to fulfill the wishes of all the guests.

This was Myles Harris's ship, a man Kirk had met yesterday. He was part of the foursome set up by Admiral Komack. Komack had described him as an influential owner of the largest construction contractor on Star Fleets books. His companies were also into private security and systems development. A very wealthy man, apparently.

Harris was a tall middle-aged man whose presence in a room was felt the minute he entered it. He was both trim and muscular - obviously adhered to a steady fitness regime. After five hours of golf, Jim could also say the man understood the universe and Earth's position in it, better than most.

But like a good poker player, Jim felt that Harris kept most of his cards close to his chest. He like to sit back and observe while letting everyone else talk. A tactic that allowed him to see weaknesses in his opponents. Jim had no doubt it was qualities like these which had made him so successful.

It was evening and a party was well underway in the large lounge area of the ship. Bright light spilled out into the dusk. A red sun was just dipping below the horizon to the west. The ocean state was calm. Music and conversation filled the air.

Jim leaned back, elbows on the railing looking inward. Star Fleet was well represented among the guests present. He recognized other line captains - Garrovick, Tracey, Decker, Garth. There was also instructors from the Academy, one example was John Gill. Komack was not the only admiral present. The Federation itself was also well represented.

For the pleasure of the largely male guest list, there was an assortment of beautiful and exotic women - Orion, Caitlain primarily. There were gaming tables in a separate room.

To start the evening, the ship's captain had set up a damping field to prevent all and any communication with the guests on the ship. No outside distractions allowed. Harris was obviously well connected and knew how to throw a hell of a party.

Kirk knew he should enjoy this event. Everyone else was. But instead he had a feeling of manipulation as if every detail had been specifically orchestrated to bring out his more base qualities. He swirled his glass of Andorian ale and contemplated what to do next.

He felt a presence next to on the rail. He had noticed her before - human and obviously not part of the group brought on board to entertain the guests.

He turned to look outward over the ocean. "Hello, Jim Kirk is my name."

"Marla McGivers," she answered. "I know who you are."

"Who am I?" said Jim.

"One of few who met Khan Noonien Singh," she said. "I'm a historian."

"This doesn't seem the type of party to meet a historian."

She smiled and Jim decided at that point she was actually very beautiful - historian or not. He always did like red heads.

"Well, Marla McGivers, why are you interested in Khan?"

"Of the 80 or so despotic rulers of that time, he was the best. I've always liked great men of history."

"He was the best," agreed Jim. He frowned over the number. 80?

"I was wondering if you might help me. I am looking to get a list of the names of those found in the cryo tubes," she got right to the point..

"72 cryo-tubes plus Khan," said Jim, mentally counting. "I don't know. At the time, the unfrozen one was taking all my attention. Why don't you ask our host? He is likely better connected than I am."

"I work for Harris. But from what I can see, he is not interested in this line of research."

"What line of research?" asked Jim.

"Who were the 7 genetically enhanced super humans who were not found on the Botany Bay and what happened to them?"


	5. Chapter 5

Jim was leaning back in his chair on the fly bridge of Harris's ship. Fine wine and good food had mellowed his mood. They were currently travelling at 20 knots, fast enough to get somewhere but slow enough to enjoy the scenery. Travelling southward on the Hecate Strait meant he saw vistas of the northern temperate rain forest with its huge redwoods and cedars. Every so often a mountain glacier would calve off a large chunk of ice into the dark water. They passed fingers of fjords that stretched inland, obscured by mist and fog.

There was something about wind in the face that gave the illusion of speed. Jim Kirk understood the impulse that took sailors of old across vast expanses of water to destinations unknown, using only their wits and limited tools. For any man to climb hand-over-hand, hundreds of feet above a pitching deck, on a dark night in a howling gale, to reef a sail and save the ship from capsizing - that was frigging amazing. Extraordinary effort or death. The choice was simple.

He also understood the captain of the old navy ship of the line. Command was a two edged sword. Any captain's ability to command was based on his ability to be in control. Confidence in the leader was only as good as the last order given. In a crisis, no confidence in leadership meant cohesion failed and so was the ability to pull together for the common good.

That historic navy captain was isolated from his crew by the demands of outrageous expectations. He had no contact with land. Navigating was by sun and star using crude sextants and calculating equations with paper and pencil. Ancient chronometers were mechanical devices affected by humidity and temperature. An overcast day or a faulty chronometer or an error in calculation - all meant the difference between avoiding a reef and grounding a ship. His orders were months old. Despite all that, those amazing sailors from another time persisted and triumphed.

Thoughts like this ran through Jim's head as he watched the man across the table. The rest of the Star Fleet and Federation guests had vacated the vessel a day ago. He was the last one remaining. Harris invited him to sail to Seattle with him. Jim had accepted. He was in no hurry to get back to San Francisco. Officially, he was still on medical leave until Bones said otherwise. True, McCoy would be annoyed at his prolonged absence from Star Fleet Medical but Jim felt fine. To be honest, he felt better than he could remember but he chalked that up to the lack of duty and responsibility. And the truly amazing meal Harris's staff conjured up.

Harris had invited Jim to dine with him on the fly bridge of the ship. It was a meal of local delicacies. He couldn't decide which was better - the wine, the food or the view.

At Harris's prompting, Jim retold his experiences with the Narada and the more recent experience with the Vengeance. Harris listened intently, interjecting with comments that helped Jim put into context the nature of the orders given to him by Star Fleet and Federation Council. He obviously understood the inner workings of power. Jim was impressed. Was there no one or nothing, this man didn't know?

Later, over a glass of 40 year tawny Port, Harris asked for Jim's thoughts on the species who resided in the nearby universe - Andorians, Orions, Vulcans, to name a few. Jim found it gratifying to have a man of Harris's obvious stature listen to his ideas. Bones, Scotty and especially Spock tended to nit pick every order, question his every move. Spock got him fired. Bones tended to belly-ache at every suggestion. Scotty fucking quit on him. Jeez, maybe what he needed was new friends. He tipped back his glass.

"The Klingons?" asked Harris. He aerated the Port with a gentle swirl.

Jim paused. His only direct experience with Klingons had been the events on Qo'noS only a couple months back. He thought how badly they were being beaten until Khan showed up.

"Formidable," he said.

"What about war?" said Harris.

"It would be costly." Jim watched Harris closely.

"To win, we would need to strike first, hard and quick. Strength is all they understand," said Harris.

Maybe thought Jim. Out loud he said, "Perhaps we should concentrate on normalizing relations."

"Can an eagle normalize relations with salmon? A predator is a predator."

"There is no motive for conflict."

"Motives can manufactured like piece of furniture. By either side," said Harris. He signalled to the steward to clear the table. The conversation was over.

Before Harris left, he turned and said, "We dock tomorrow in Seattle. I have an extensive collection of antique Corvettes at my place there. Have you ever driven one?"

"Just once," said Jim. He suddenly grinned at Harris. This guy had fucking amazing toys.

* * *

**Star Fleet Headquarters, San Francisco**

"I need to get to London." McCoy burst into the room where Spock was meeting with the engineering firm re-fitting Enterprise.

"Carry on," said Spock. He stepped out into hallway and closed the door behind him. "Why did you interrupt my meeting?"

"I need to get to London. Fastest way possible. They are going to cremate that body. If not the WHO, it'll be Section 31." The doctor's anxiety was palpable.

"What are you talking about?" Spock was annoyed.

"Lucille died."

"Still not making any sense, Doctor," said Spock.

"Lucille. Lucille Harewood."

"Daughter of Thomas Harewood, the Kelvin Memorial Archive bomber? I re-iterate my original question. What are you talking about?"

"Jesus man, don't you know how Khan coerced a man like Harewood to set that bomb? It was his daughter. Lucille. She was dying. Khan saved her with the platelets from his blood. She was the first known use of Khan's blood. The only other use besides Jim. I didn't just inject that Tribble because I was bored one day in sick bay," said McCoy.

"I assume Lucille's procedure was successful?" Light was dawning for Spock.

"Very. But now she's dead. I need to get to London," repeated McCoy.

She is dead, Spock repeated the statement in thought. "I'll go with you." But how? London could be minutes away if they used a transporter. But, the use of transporter technology on Earth was very restricted. To pop out of thin air virtually into any room or area just was not socially acceptable never mind outright dangerous in certain cases. Not to have access to that very useful device was frustrating to Spock. "Scotty may have a suggestion."

"Jesus, Spock," said McCoy. "Let's hope so. And here's the next issue - where the hell is Jim? This isn't funny any more. I need to see him."

"Agreed. And you, Doctor, need to tell me what you know. I can only help if I understand what you did."

"And you need to help me find Marla McGivers. I have some holes to fill in about eugenics research one hundred years back. Two hundred years back."

They started to run.

* * *

**First City, Qo'noS**

"Kruge."

"Yes, my lord Chancellor?" Kruge was standing at attention in the office of the man who ruled the Klingon empire.

"There can be no mistake. I do not want war with the humans. Our plan is to expand through the acquisition of weaker species like the Organians and the Capellans. War with the federation will be costly. We do run from it but we bide our time until we are stronger."

The Chancellor walked to the other side of the room and turned. "But rumours of genetic engineering are upsetting. I need to know if they are true!

Kruge pounded his fist on the table. "Humans and their li-quids and potions to heal the sick. The sick should die! Creating mutagenic viruses is a dishonourable way to fight!"

The Chancellor walked over to Kruge and grabbed the front of his tunic. "No! We still do not know what they are doing. Marcus wanted to provoke us into war. We are not stupid. When Klingons fight we fight for our own reasons, not theirs!"

Pushing Kruge away, the Chancellor walked back to his chair. "Get me the truth. Are the humans planning war? Who is behind this?"

"Yes, my lord Chancellor." Kruge was still not sure how he was to accomplish this.

"There is a meeting. In the Ketha Province where we met before. Now go. Prepare for it."

"With the agent?" asked Kruge.

"No. With Harris," said the Chancellor.


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you for the great reviews, Tishbing.

To Cat4444 - I agree you can say unequivocally that there are no Redwoods or calfing glaciers in BC in the 21st century. But what about the 23rd? What about global warming? Okay, seriously, you caught me. My apologies. Thanks for the encouraging words.

* * *

**Star Fleet Headquarters**

Spock and McCoy were both panting after their sprint across Star Fleet's vast campus in San Francisco. They had located Mr. Scott in an engineering research lab. A quick explanation and they had the man scrambling to find them a way to London.

"Now, Doctor," said Spock. "What is going on and is Jim in danger?"

McCoy hesitated before answering. "Yes," he said then, "No. Christ Spock, really I don't know. Not without more information. But I can tell you what I do know."

McCoy stood, arms akimbo staring out the window. "What you do know as we all do - is that Khan is a remnant of the Eugenics Wars - twentieth century science's attempt at improving the human genome. And boy, were they good at it. Men and women who were five times as strong; twice as intelligent. Super men or so they seemed at the time."

McCoy collected his thoughts and continued, "But those scientists were limited by their understanding of genetic engineering. It is one thing to take a red flower and a blue flower and make a purple one. Humans have been breeding animals and crops for superior characteristics for millennia. But to successfully target genetic sequences with advanced characteristics without some sort of side effect, well that is sophisticated shit. "

"The paranoia that followed the Eugenics Wars muddied the waters. Databases around the world were scrubbed of all knowledge of the techniques used. No one wanted to see a Frankenstein created in some one's garage using information found on the old Internet. Today, it is very hard to find out what they did in any detail at all. I believe it still exists somewhere. I just don't know how to access it."

"Now, fast forward to the 22nd century, where there were thousands of left over eugenics embryos stored in a secure off-world facility. Secure, my ass. A rogue scientist manages to steal some and raise them as his children. He wanted to breed out the aggressive behavior. Once again, some jackass thought he could improve the human genome and once again, the results were disastrous. This time, the Klingons thought we were weaponizing this shit and through a series of misguided events - a mutagenic virus was born that nearly wiped out the Klingon Empire. No wonder those guys are reluctant to be our friend. I wouldn't like us either."

Spock interrupted, "For the sake of brevity, may I assume that the genetic research from the 22nd century is also unavailable, Doctor?

"Not a trace," said McCoy. "Now, fast forward again to the modern era. A superhuman created in the 20th century is awoken from cryo-sleep. He uses the restorative properties of his unique genome to bribe a father into an act of terror, so he could obtain transwarp beaming technology. Miraculously, his sick daughter beats certain death. But no one is quite sure how Khan did this. When I obtained a sample of Khan's blood, I was asked by Star Fleet medical to evaluate it. I injected a platelet-based extract into the necrotic tissue of a dead Tribble. The rest is history. To sum up, Jim is alive because I took a lucky shot in the dark."

"Brevity, doctor, brevity. While I'm still young." Spock interrupted again, "I'm sure it wasn't all luck."

McCoy glared at Spock. "This is the question. Is the instability that is inherent in twentieth century genetic engineering - is that what killed Lucille Harewood?"

"The same issue that nearly devastated the Klingon Empire 100 years ago?"

McCoy mood was somber. "Yes."

Spock meditated for a moment and said, "And then there's Jim."

"Yeah, well. The man's a walking time bomb," said McCoy. "I'm almost positive."

Scotty came running up to the two men. "Don't you worry about finding that mad bastard. He's probably in his apartment right now locked up with a gorgeous Andorian female."

"Mr. Scott, do you have a ride for us?" said Spock.

"Yes. The transwarp beaming device from the crash. I have it here. It's in pretty good shape, all things considered." Scott put the mechanism on a table with a thud.

McCoy's stomach turned. "It survived the crash?"

"And the bombing," said Spock.

Scotty slapped McCoy on the back. "You're not afraid of little beaming, laddy? She's fine; Khan went all the way to Qo'noS with it. You're only going to London."

"Great," said McCoy. The things I do for you, Jim.

"Off you go then," said Scotty.

* * *

**Harris,'s Luxury Apartment, Pike's Place, Seattle.**

Sometimes a man has to admit some things to himself, thought Jim. I am in awesome shape.

He had just finished a work out in Harris's private gym. He was nude to the waist, dressed only in shorts and a towel around his neck. Sweat was streaming off his body. In another room he could hear Harris sparring with his training coach. The life of the very, very rich, thought Jim.

Once again, he was hitting personal bests in the weight room. It made him think of McCoy, that old woman. He would be fussing with his tri-corder, if he told him. Just go with it, he thought. So what if Khan's super blood was taking his body on a bit of rocket ship ride to the moon. He could use the extra help at healing. One way or another he always seemed to be getting into a fight.

He stood in front of the mirror and admired his guns. In the past, no matter how hard he worked, there was a certain pudginess to his muscles. Not now. He felt great. The typical after work-out soreness was absent.

He started to walk towards the showers when Harris's training coach came in the room. A large specimen of a man, he was cut and bruised. They must fight rough, thought Jim.

"Mr. Harris was wondering if you would like to spar with him?" he said.

Jim thought then nodded. He certainly felt good enough to take on Harris. He told himself to pull the punches a bit. No reason to hurt the man. He followed the coach into the next room.

There was a regulation sized boxing ring set up. Harris was dressed in a singlet. No protective headgear or gloves. Huh, thought Jim. Those won't be as civilized as at the Academy gym. But Jim had been through his share of bar fights - so a little mano-a-mano with a middle aged businessman didn't scare him. Although, he had to admit, Harris looked like he was in pretty good shape.

"Just fists," said Harris indicating the use of feet was out. Jim had been originally trained for high school boxing so this was his preferred style.

They circled the ring, fists up. Jim scored the first jab, landing a quick jab to Harris's chest. Then with lightening speed Harris landed two, one to his eye. Jim fell back against ropes. Okay, he thought surprised, no more Mr. Nice Guy.

Harris was quick and Jim had to work to keep up with him. The next five minutes he landed more punches than he could ever remember. Harris too, was hitting his targets with greater intensity. Jim could not remember a fight with such ferocity. He mind was blank, concentrating on nothing but the present. The here and now.

A bell clanged through the fog of the fight. Harris stopped instantly and walked back to his corner. Jim stood panting at center ring. He looked down at his knuckles which he knew from past experience would be cut and bruised. He flexed them. They weren't even sore.

He looked up. Harris was watching him closely. Suddenly, he realized that Harris was not cut. And he could see no bruises. This was not possible. Who was Harris?


End file.
